How We Put Ourselves in Boxes—and Call It Freedom
An invitation to remember that we are always more than the labels we choose.
It’s become a common practice these days to begin an introduction with a declaration of identity.
We share our pronouns.
We describe our roles.
We announce our preferences, beliefs, affiliations.
We tell the world, “This is who I am.”
And in many ways, this makes perfect sense.
There’s something deeply human about wanting to be seen, known, and respected. We want others to understand us, to meet us where we are. We want to express what feels true.
But I’ve been wondering about something.
What happens when those expressions—those perfectly valid, honest preferences—harden into definitions? What happens when they shift from being something about us to the thing that defines us? When the descriptor becomes the container?
It seems to me that this well-meaning practice of self-declaration can quietly drift into something much smaller than it was meant to be.
Without realizing it, we might be doing something strange:
We create a box…
and then we stand inside it…
and then we declare to the world, “I am this box.”
The Trouble with Boxes
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with having preferences. Nothing wrong with using words to describe the roles we play, the ways we move through the world, the expressions that feel true to us. Language is how we connect. It’s how we point to experience.
But boxes—by their very nature—confine.
And the moment we believe we are the box, we start to feel that confinement. We start to defend it. Protect it. Argue for it.
We begin to demand that others see us as the box we’ve chosen.
And worst of all, we start to forget that we are so much more.
The Problem with Believing the Box
The trouble isn’t with the label itself.
The trouble comes when we believe the label contains the whole of who we are.
It’s one thing to say, “This is how I experience the world right now.”
It’s another to say, “This is who I am, and I must be treated as such.”
Because when “I prefer” becomes “I am,” we aren’t just expressing ourselves—we’re quietly limiting ourselves. We’re narrowing the wide, living field of our experience into a single, fixed shape. And we’re asking others to do the same.
The irony is that the more tightly we hold to an identity, the more fragile we often feel. When the world doesn’t reflect our chosen box back to us perfectly, we take it as a threat, as disrespect, as harm. We feel unseen, invalidated, unsafe.
And so, we double down.
We defend the box.
We demand that others respect the box.
We spend more and more of our precious energy keeping the walls intact.
But here’s the thing:
You are not the box.
You are not the role you play.
You are not the preferences you express.
You are not the story you tell about yourself—no matter how true it feels right now.
Those are all features of the landscape.
But they are not the land itself.
The Space, Not the Shape
I think about how easily we let these boxes shape our entire sense of self:
“I’m an anxious person.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“I’m a survivor.”
“I’m an artist.”
“I’m a conservative.”
“I’m a liberal.”
“I’m an introvert.”
“I’m a failure.”
“I’m a success.”
These may all be descriptions of an experience.
But none of them are the essence of you.
Experiences change. Roles change. Bodies change. Beliefs change.
Who you are does not.
Because who you are is the space all of that happens in.
We Are the Sky, Not the Clouds
Here’s a picture that helps me see it more clearly:
Imagine the sky on any given day.
Sometimes it’s bright blue, open, and still.
Sometimes it’s cluttered with clouds—dark, dramatic, ever-changing.
Sometimes it’s clear at dawn and stormy by afternoon.
The sky doesn’t fight the clouds.
It doesn’t argue with the weather.
It doesn’t need the clouds to disappear in order to remain the sky.
The sky holds it all.
Unafraid. Unchanged. Unbroken.
Our identities—the labels we choose, the roles we play, the stories we tell—are like the clouds. They are part of the picture. They move through. They take shape. They dissolve.
But they are not the sky.
You are not the cloud of “artist” or “mother” or “survivor.”
You are not the cloud of “they/them” or “she/her” or “he/him.”
You are not the cloud of “anxious,” “introverted,” “political,” or “successful.”
All of these may float through your experience, but none of them define the vastness of what you are.
You are the space they happen in.
What If the Box Was Never the Point?
This isn’t about denying your preferences.
It’s not about silencing your expression.
It’s not about pretending identity doesn’t matter.
It’s about remembering that it’s not all that matters.
The labels, the roles, the pronouns, the beliefs—they are real. But they are also partial.
They are descriptions, not definitions.
They are costumes, not cages.
And maybe the greatest harm isn’t in using these words…
…it’s in mistaking them for the whole truth.
Because the moment we believe, “This is who I am and I must be treated as such,” we stop asking the deeper question:
“What am I, really—beneath all of this?”
The answer is too big for a box.
The Freedom of Holding Identity Lightly
So what if, instead of declaring “This is who I am” like a fixed, final statement…
…we could say, “This is how I experience life right now”?
What if we could wear our identities like well-loved jackets—comforting, familiar, expressive—but easy to take off when the weather changes?
What if we could hold our preferences, roles, and stories with an open hand, not a clenched fist?
Not because they don’t matter…
…but because we remember that we are always more.
More than the box we build.
More than the name we choose.
More than the label we defend.
More than the weather passing through.
We are the space, not the shape.
The sky, not the cloud.
The ocean, not the wave.
And when we hold that truth close, something softens.
There’s less to defend.
Less to prove.
Less to fear.
We can still speak up. Still ask to be seen. Still express what feels true.
But we don’t need the world to perfectly reflect our box back to us in order to feel whole.
Because we weren’t made to live in boxes.
We were made for the open air.
Author’s Note
I know this is a sensitive subject, and I want to be clear:
I fully honor anyone’s right to express themselves however they choose. I believe every person deserves to feel safe, respected, and seen.
This is not a call to deny expression. It’s not a commentary on politics or policy.
It’s simply an invitation to remember:
The words we use to describe ourselves are not the limit of who we are.
We are always more.